


A Promise Out Of Sight

by Lokesenna



Series: Put Your Hands Into The Fire [1]
Category: Wolverine (Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Logan's family isn't in the fic - they're only mentioned, M/M, Marriage, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokesenna/pseuds/Lokesenna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which in-the-closet Logan is in the Air Force, married, and for all the world to see, happily so... but then he meets a young genetics student, and his world is tossed upside down as he has a one-night-stand with Charles which leaves him wanting more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Out Of Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I felt inspired after seeing [dwaroxxx](http://dwaroxxx.tumblr.com/) newest fanarts and felt like I needed to contribute some more. There just isn't enough of this pairing to go around!
> 
> For anyone who's curious, you can find me on tumblr here: [cherikology](http://cherikology.tumblr.com/).
> 
> (I already have an idea for how this may continue, but as each part stands alone, this can be read and deemed complete.)
> 
> PS: All mistakes are my own, none of my betas share this ship with me... and I changed the name of the title

 

It was a mistake - coming back, at this time, after this mission, to New York.

But going straight home to would, Logan felt, have been an even bigger mistake. 

He hadn't wanted to go right back there after the busted op, after the depressing debrief followed by the futile, officially ordered R&R he'd gone through the motions of taking, in Germany. See, the thing was, nothing official could fix this. Probably no amount of leave could, either. Not really. It would take a lot of plain old time, and beer, and hunting, to take the taste of what had gone down in Pakistan out of his mouth.

Scotty would help. Scotty always helped everything, and he didn't even know it, and Maureen would help; eventually.

But not yet.

So, he'd called her from Germany; told her his brother was back home, which was completely true, and that he was going to hitch a flight there first. She'd understood. At least she'd said she had.

But New York had been a mistake. It hadn't helped at all.

It was a stilted, uncomfortable sort of family reunion that only served, Logan realized, to put off the more difficult one for a little longer, while making not a damn bit of difference to his mood. So after dinner the second night, he'd spun some fiction about meeting the guys downtown, and bailed, driving his old rental.

This bar was one he remembered, because it was close to the ball field, but things had changed in this neighbourhood. Changed a lot. Or, he had. It had only been six or seven years since he'd been in here last, but it seemed like a much younger crowd, now, all college kids, and the music blasting out over the same peeling speakers was now full of computerized instruments. Nothing like he remembered. Well, it could be worse. At least it wasn't country.

He'd drunk one beer, ordered before he'd fully taken in the changes to the place, and then he'd ordered another, because someone caught his attention, which was why he'd come out. Hoping something, anything, would.

So, sipping his second beer, Logan found himself watching the semi-long haired, enthusiastic young guy who was holding forth at a table between the bar, where Logan sat, and the barely occupied dance-floor. It looked like a very academic crowd at that table - lots of slacks and those broomstick skirts Maureen liked, but also plenty of well-worn suit jackets. Lots of glasses and earnestness and long dangly silver earrings that hinted vaguely of Central America.

They were all celebrating something; hard to say what, but the brown haired guy who had caught Logan's eye kept getting bought rounds of drinks, and accepting, with a very attractive blush, the toasts of his comrades. He had blue eyes, and a ready smile, and yet his smile seemed tentative; the most ephemeral thing about him. It came and went, like clouds over the sun. He was slim, and handsome, definitely shorter than Logan, and happy without being rowdy, and as the conversation ebbed and flowed around him he seemed most interested in the people, in their words, and not on getting drunk and how that made you feel when you were celebrating. Occasionally he'd get on a roll about something and talk, at length, and gesture, waving his hands or tapping on the table to make his point. His hair would get in his eyes and he'd impatiently smooth it back… and he had a gorgeous mouth. A kissable mouth with cherry red lips.

If his brother had been here, Logan would have felt obliged to focus more on the wavy-haired blonde on the young man’s left, who was hanging on the guy's every word. Or pretending to. There was something about her demeanour that told Logan she was more interested in how people were seeing her, than she was in him, even though it was clearly his party; she was a little too self-conscious for Logan's taste. It spoiled any spontaneity in her vicinity, but Logan was alone, and so he could do whatever he wanted, and as soon as he'd sized up the blonde, he’d forgotten her.

He watched the brown haired guy smile, and talk, and sip red wine, and hand off at least two shots of what might have been tequila to the sullen, pouty-lipped guy on his right. The blonde was leaning close, appearing to hang on his every word, yeah, but in the end, she left with Pouty. Interesting, that.

Watching Pouty down the free shots had made Logan think about getting some whiskey, but he figured he'd better stick to beer, since he had to get home later and all… but later seemed a long way away, as long as he had someone this sparkly and attractive to look at.

Finally the enthusiastic guy was swept toward the door with the crowd, saying goodbye, apparently, and Logan allowed himself the secret pleasure of sweeping him up and down one more time, now that he could get a really good full-spectrum look, since the guy was standing. Waistcoat, slim hips, the obligatory slacks, legs that seemed to be more muscular than he would have expected, but oh, those lips, those eyes, and then Logan turned his attention to the hockey game on the screen at the end of the bar.

One wonderful thing about hockey. It had nothing to do with Pakistan. Nothing whatsoever.

"Hey, Pat, can I trade these for the largest glass of iced tea you've got?" Brown haired guy was suddenly right there next to Logan, at the bar, setting down two beers that departing friends must have pressed on him. "... Okay, then yeah, Coke would be fine... No, just Coke, please."

The guy was close enough to elbow, looking, at this much-pleasanter distance, sweaty and breathless and just as gorgeous as he had from across the room. He had acquired a cardigan… and now he was alone.

Logan raised his second beer of the night and said, "You all looked like you had a lot to celebrate over there."

The guy gulped down half his Coke, and came up talking. "Yes, we certainly did." He grinned at Logan as if he'd known him all his life. He brought his Coke over to thunk against Logan's beer, which didn't work very well, as the Coke was in a tall plastic glass, but Logan took the gesture in its intended spirit. "We've pulled down all the grants we need for the next academic year, a paper of mine was accepted to a major high-profile journal, so in short - life is good and things make sense."

"All right then," Logan said, lips quirking at the corners. The guy's smile was infectious. "Next up, world peace."

"And a pony," the guy agreed.

"I'm Charles," the guy said extending his hand, and Logan couldn't but shake it.

"Logan," he said, and he almost said "Logan Howlett," just his habit, but he stopped at the first name because something was pinging him, something under the surface that he usually didn't ever look for state-side, because he had what he was looking for at home, when he was home.

And that particular ping, he'd never felt in New York before, never, because he'd moved away from here long before he'd known what it was all about. New York wasn't ever about this, for Logan, but it was incontrovertible that the vibe he was getting from this guy was the same kind of body language, the same kind of signal, that served him overseas, after certain missions. Only then - when he was far from home, and he needed something. When he was one of the guys who went months without family, who saw things and did things, together, that they couldn't take home to family. Guys for whom the hookups were anonymous and more than a little desperate, encounters where no one ever announced their last names, and the first names you did get were certainly fake.

The guy was smiling too much, and looking at his mouth, which you would never let yourself do. He'd held Logan's hand that little bit too long after they'd shaken, too. Most of all, he was looking too warmly and too intently into Logan's eyes. Ratchet up the intensity any more and it would be a blatant eye-fuck, but maybe that wasn't out of place, here, in the neighbourhood of the university, in a big city like New York. It was a whole new decade now, and America had gotten more liberal, more tolerant, when Logan wasn't looking, committed as he was to a life where the rules were very, very different than they would be here, for an academic in the Second City of the good ole U.S.A… and as the cues piled up, Logan suddenly understood that maybe the thing that would help him forget Pakistan, for real, deep down, to the bone, and would let him go home to Maureen in something resembling one piece, was right here in front of him after all.

Logan let his smile curl one corner of his mouth, as he held that intent blue gaze, and then he drained his beer and said, "Pull up a stool, Chuck. You sure you're sticking with Coke?"

"Charles. And, well, I do have to drive home. Eventually," Charles said, still with that recklessly eager look, and his tone was shading into something that sounded like... flirting.

"The night is young," Logan said. "Maybe you'll get lucky, and someone will give you a ride and then you won't have to drive."

"Maybe," Charles said, and the light in his eyes dimmed, just for a minute, and his face got serious. He was still looking right at Logan. The connection was there; Logan wasn't imagining it.

"Maybe I'll get lucky myself and be the one to get to give you a ride," Logan said, daring, yet his gut told him, had been telling him ever since he caught sight of the guy, that it wasn't daring at all. It was the safest of safe bets.

Charles's serious expression stayed, for a moment, and then it changed. His face flashed through a half dozen moods, each stunning Logan with its intensity and its, well, nakedness. Charles showed him surprise, embarrassment, disbelief, lust, shame and finally determination. He turned away and set his Coke down on the bar.

"Pat. I’ll have that dark beer you have on draft," he said, catching the bartender's eye almost immediately.

"Two," Logan echoed. He could do dark beer. And flirting. The guy was not only gorgeous, he was intriguing.

"So tell me about this paper," Logan said, when Charles was contemplating the tall glass that Pat parked between his forearms. He'd let Logan pay cash for their drinks with a calculating, assessing glance that flicked from Pat to Logan and then back down to his glass.

Logan hitched his stool a little closer, so that his knee was brushing Charles'.

Charles looked up and left his knee right where it was, touching Logan's. A small, anticipatory thrill began to gather in Logan's lower back. Soon it would creep up his spine. He told himself that he hadn’t been on the hunt… but Charles definitely seemed like a conquest.

The younger man said carefully, "You don't have to pretend to be interested in my paper. 'Cause trust me - you don't look like someone who's very into genetics."

"There's where you're wrong. I am interested," Logan returned, keeping his expression open.

"Okay," Charles said, drawing out the second vowel. "The paper is about competing theories on neutral mutation hypotheses by DNA polymorphism. I take sides."

"Sounds pretty much over my head, but I always like a good controversy," Logan said. The guy was so attractive, yet so self-conscious. Almost too-conscious. Too self-aware. Logan had known guys like that whose mental tendencies made them wash out of parachute training. They literally thought too much.

Charles smiled, and, taking him at his word, or perhaps looking forward to showing off, plunged in to an explanation. It was almost certainly the abridged and dumbed down version, but it still took the better part of fifteen minutes and most of Logan's beer for Charles to give him the gist, as well as the sacrifice of three cocktail napkins in the service of Charles' expository drawings.

The lecture came to an end, and Charles wadded the last napkin and turned to his neglected beer. "And that's my position. And you've done a bang-up job of pretending to be interested in something that I'm certain is not your field. Not even close. What do you do? Engineering? Something in IT?"

"Not even close," Logan echoed, and he found himself about to tell the truth. Something about the changing waves of feeling and enthusiasm on Charles' face made him want to open up just as much, show just as much. Dangerous. Impossible. "I'm in the military," he said, amending "Air Force" to the more generic term at the last possible moment. Charles's expression got even more surprised and curious than before, if that were possible. "I fly helicopters, planes," Logan said.

"I wouldn’t have thought… the haircut," Charles said, and licked his lips, and that made Logan laugh out loud, because yeah – his haircut certainly didn’t much fit the job description, but he didn’t have to justify that. "And I suppose," Charles went on, after Logan had calmed his laughter with another sip of beer, "that if you told me any more-"

Logan's voice, joining his, a fractured unison, "I'd have to kill you."

Making them both laugh. Logan became aware that Charles's knee was frankly pressing his now, that Charles was leaning in, and that his beer was gone.

Logan made his voice gentle. Something, he realised, almost sounded alien to his own ears. "I meant what I said about you getting lucky and getting a ride home."

"Yeah?"

Logan met his eyes squarely. The guy had brought down his poker face. He just looked calm now, giving nothing away. "Or you could take me somewhere. My truck'll be fine here; I parked in the lot with security, down the block. Not on the street."

"I'm on the street," Charles offered, and then he hesitated, but his knee was warm against Logan's, and it even slid a little along the denim of Logan's thigh, slid a little closer.

"Your place is fine with me, Chuck," Logan said, still drowning in all that blue, and with the tone in his voice and the words themselves, there was no possible way Charles could mistake what that meant, what Logan wanted and was agreeing to.

Charles had given up on correcting him, even flushed a little at being called that.

"Yeah, okay," Charles said, exhaling breathily as he said it, and he looked into his beer glass and seemed surprised to find it empty. He got up and ran a hand through his hair and turned for the door.

Logan tossed a few dollars onto the counter and got up. Pat winked at him. Logan nodded gruffly at the man. It was disorienting, to be in a place where nobody knew him, where he could pick some guy up in plain sight, in a bar that wasn't even a gay bar, and the bartender wouldn't bat an eye, would obliquely congratulate him. Jesus. He really did ordinarily live in a different world than New York, America.

Charles was waiting for him outside, and when Logan came through the door Charles slid his hands into his pockets as he led the way down the block to his Mercedes, parked, as he'd said, at the curb. Logan kept close, right behind his right shoulder, closer than he'd have walked with anyone in his unit. The car was old enough that Charles didn't have a remote to unlock the passenger door. Logan waited, his hand on the door latch. Charles leaned to pull the lock up for him. As Logan got in, Charles turned the key. The radio came on with the engine - the university station Logan remembered. At this time of night it was always old jazz. Logan smiled.

They drove, and Logan watched Charles' profile, and the sweep of his long hair, and the bands of white light that stretched across his face from the street lights. They didn't talk. Logan figured at this point there wasn't all that much to say.

They headed into the neighbourhoods that bordered the University. Once away from the commercial area of bars and restaurants, traffic abruptly lessened. The waiting, saturated city night seemed to expand around the little car.

Without warning, and without explanation, Charles turned into the parking lot of an all-night drugstore. Without looking at Logan, he got out and strode up the side walk. Logan settled back in his seat and put his hands in his pockets. Out of habit, he scanned the brightly lit vicinity around the car, even turning to look out the back window once or twice, even though what he felt like doing was putting his head back and closing his eyes, letting the anticipation build, while he waited for Charles. He was sure he knew what Charles was buying. He hoped he did, anyway.

Very soon Charles got back in the car. Logan could see the tail of a white plastic sack hanging from the slash pocket of his cardigan, but he didn't offer any explanation. After he turned the key he took his hand from the ignition and turned to Logan, and then he was leaning, and Logan found himself leaning, too, eager and surprised. Fuck, he never was surprised and he doubted anyone but Charles had ever seen him _eager_ before. Not even Maureen.

Their mouths met, skidded a little, caught. Logan reached for Charles' shoulder. Charles had hold of his leather jacket's lapel.

The kiss was warm and solid. It seemed more greeting than exploration. It made Charles smile and break into it to nuzzle Logan's lips a little, and he found himself letting the man. When it finally came to an end, Charles started another kiss. With a grunt of pleasure, Logan reciprocated… and Charles not only welcomed this, but escalated it. He opened his mouth, making everything wetter and deeper. Logan slid his hand around and up and tangled it in Charles' long hair… and boy did the kid begin to make him hard with those pink lips and that skilled tongue.

Finally Charles leaned back, still looking curious, still so intent, his mouth wet. He said: "I just wanted to, you know… before we got to my place."

"Gotcha, kid," Logan agreed gravely.

"So that there was no doubt of my intentions," Charles finished, and flashed him a smile, quick and bright as lightning, and then Charles licked those pink lips and raised his eyebrows and took hold of the wheel again. He put the car in gear, backed out, headed for the street. "It sounds so formal and courtly like that."

"Oh, I ain’t formal," Logan said.

"And I'm certainly not courtly, my friend."

"A successful grad student who hasn't ever held court? Come on. I bet you could be devastating in your demolition of someone else's stupid theory." Logan kept his voice light, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Charles' mouth, certainly not now. Without really thinking about it he let his hand creep over until he could brush the side of Charles' thigh. Charles didn't flinch, but Logan was watching him so intently that he saw it when his eyes creased, just a little, at the contact. Logan slid careful fingers up and over to rest his palm on the big muscle on top, and curl his fingertips toward Charles' in-seam.

Charles made a little noise. "Maybe you shouldn't do that," he said.

"As you wish, princess," Logan said, and took his hand back.

"It's just that it's very distracting. In the good way." Charles took a deep breath, and Logan watched the street lights flash in those intensely blue eyes, until very shortly he pulled up in front of a nondescript brownstone. “Home away from home.”

Logan glanced around as he followed Charles up the walk to the door. The neighbourhood looked familiar - it had to be within a stone's throw of the University.

Charles' place was on the second floor, at the back. He glanced at Logan, his face unreadable, as he fumbled for his keys, and then ushered Logan ahead of him. Rock music was drifting in from somewhere, through a wall or a floor, and there was a distinct odour of burned coffee and old wax, and then Logan wasn't investigating the place any further because Charles was pushing him back against the closed door as little as he was, getting them chest to chest, and fitting their mouths together again. With another grunt, Logan allowed for it to happen, allowed for the kid’s hand to press against his jaw. Charles was breathing hard and his lips were cool. _Addictive._

When Logan pressed closer, the brunet opened to him immediately. Logan even tilted his head and let it thump gently against the door, inviting Charles to get aggressive with the kissing, which Charles did, to his satisfaction. Logan's heart started to pound. He slid his hands under the back of Charles' cardigan and worried the tails of his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. The skin of his back was smooth and warm; not furred at all, unlike Logan’s own. While the amazingly intense kissing went on, Logan explored the contours of Charles' ribs and spine with one hand, and let the other roam down to see just how tight the top of those pants really were. When his fingertips wedged under the waistband, reaching for the swelling curve of Charles' ass, Charles groaned without breaking the seal of their mouths and rocked his hips against Logan’s thigh, and all of a sudden there were teeth in his kiss, little hasty nips and bites at Logan's lips. Then Charles shifted and pressed his erection against Logan's own, and sucked. Hard. Logan's hands grabbed, hard, a reflex, his nails scratching a little, and he groaned too.

Charles pulled back then, and he fumbled the drug store sack out of his pocket as he turned and then he juggled the sack so that he could jerk himself out of his cardigan. He dropped it on the floor. Logan almost tripped over it, and then, forewarned, he managed to not trip over Charles' shoes, which made a trail along with the cardigan as he toed out of them, heading single-mindedly across the front room and down his hallway. Logan followed.

He had a confused impression of dim light, dark colors, something fabric-y hanging on a couple of the walls, maybe a brick mantelpiece, and books - books stacked everywhere, on the floor, on the low table, but then they were in the hall and the hall presumably led to the bedroom and this was very, very good.

"You're actually a top, aren't you," Charles said, over his shoulder. His shirt was unbuttoned now; Logan could see the tails swinging. It made his cock jump in his jeans. He wasn't about to go strewing his own clothes in a strange place, but he slid out of his Jacket and crushed it under his arm and started undoing buttons. Nice to know the guy felt as eager as Logan did. Nice that he didn't feel any need to hide that.

"Aren't you theorizing ahead of your data, professor?"

That got him a smouldering glance, and a murmured "Oh my god," and then they were in the bedroom and Charles snapped on a lamp and turned to him and slid his hands inside Logan's now-unbuttoned shirt, clucking approvingly, and kissed him again. Repeatedly. In the middle of the kissing, Charles went to work on Logan's fly.

"Pardon my totally inappropriate stereotyping. I don't know what got into me. Why should I assume that a guy who looks like you and about whom I know three facts, that you know New York and that you're 'military' and that your skills include 'pilot', now why should I assume that a guy like you only ever tops, mmh?"

Charles delivered this speech despite the fact that he was kissing Logan's mouth, and ear, and jaw, and neck, after every second or third word, and by the time he had said it all, they were both naked and arranging themselves horizontally on the unmade bed.

"Fine, kid, I’ll say it," Logan said. "I’m a top," and he rolled as he said it, bracing himself over Charles and biting gently at his throat, sliding his knee between Charles' legs in his turn, in a spirit of fairness.

"Well, o-oh. Oh, God," and Logan had to be just a little bit smug that he could distract the guy like that, a lives-in-his-head scientist type, because Logan had gotten his weight onto one elbow so that he could look down the long cool drink of milk that was Charles's torso and slide an appreciative grip over his cock.

Which was long and flushed, a little curved, and yeah, hardly any hair on the guy. Just a wisp trailing down. Not on his chest, just a bit around the base of his dick. Charles, who had seemingly lost interest in finishing his sentence, arched and moaned and pressed up into Logan's hand, fucking the fist Logan curled around his erection for a few short pointed seconds, and as he arched he brought up his arms, and no, not much hair under there either. The guy could model. If he wanted. Without the glasses he’d sported earlier, his face looked totally different; more masculine somehow; the long hair a more shocking contrast against his jaw and high cheekbones. With his eyes closed, he seemed distant… when he turned that laser-blue stare on you, you lost sight of pretty much every other feature.

Logan rolled close again, skin seeking skin, and found Charles' mouth once more. Charles was pretty much moaning continuously now, and the way he did it, not caring how it sounded, not embarrassed, let something loose in Logan. He rarely made noise in bed, but he did now.

Charles was getting rock hard and very wet in his hand. It made him want to taste, though he knew that was stupid.

He pulled back from the deep, deep kissing.

"I don't have to top," Logan said. His voice was hoarse. "We don't have to do that at all. This is really good, just this."

Charles said something inarticulate that might have been Logan's name, and grabbed him by the shoulders, and Logan flinched, because it was second nature for him to not let people manhandle him, but he braced against his instinct and made himself relax. Through the haze of lust, Charles glanced at him, and Logan knew he'd caught the redirect. Charles didn't stop, though. He rolled them, and Logan let him, went with it, and then it was Charles braced over him, opening his knees to straddle one of Logan's legs, bringing their dicks together, and Charles was leaning on Logan's shoulders and kissing him until Logan was lost, drowned, oblivious to anything but the taste of this man, the feel of his skin, his weight pressing Logan into the mattress. Logan wrapped his arms around Charles's ribs and held on to the smaller man.

This feisty, bossy kid he’d fallen into bed with.

Charles pulled back a little, the kiss ebbing, and Logan realized he was panting, that he had a handful of firm ass in each hand and was grinding up while he pressed Charles down against him.

"God," Charles said, again, and put his face in Logan's neck, his breath coming warm and fast against Logan's ear. Logan smoothed his hands up Charles' back while the younger man traced his sideburn, the curl of his ear. Logan shivered.

"You can ride me," Logan whispered, turning his head, trying to press his cheek against Charles'. "I think you kinda want to. I think you like it up there."

"God, what was your first clue," Charles gasped, and kissed him again, hastily, sloppily. He rolled aside, and reached to the floor, and Logan felt him fumbling with the sack, heard the rustle of plastic and the crackle of packaging.

He heaved up to his elbows so he could look, at what Charles was doing and at the guy's ass, which, in point of fact, looked as gorgeous as it had felt. Charles had, as Logan had silently predicted, come out of the drug store with both lube and condoms. What that said - that Charles didn't keep stuff like that around the place, that he'd stopped for a new supply after picking up Logan, Logan could only speculate. He remembered the blonde woman, but he suppressed that right away. Thinking about women was not a train of thought he could afford to pursue just now.

He slid his knee under Charles' and squeezed Charles's arm, watching as he uncapped the lube and detached a packet from the strips in the box. Charles pinned him with a potent look, and squeezed some of the gel into his own hand and rolled in and scooted back at the same time, giving himself room enough to take hold of Logan, and room to watch.

Logan groaned and lay back, grabbing the single, still-wrapped condom out of Charles' hand as he did.

Charles' touch was careful and sure, stroking firmly, lingering around the head, twisting a little, so gentle, and then after a while he let go, straddling Logan, kneeling up so that he could spread his legs for him.

Logan stared, hazel eyes darkened with lust, and groped for Charles' arm, his free hand squeezing the man’s thigh, encouraging him to continue.

Charles played with his balls for another moment, then let his fingers drift lower.

"You don't do this all that much… let someone else take charge," Charles guessed out loud, stroking with two fingers over that sweet spot under his balls, and oh, the moan that ripped from those pink lips was beautiful.

Logan grunted, neither agreement nor disagreement, and gave the kid’s thigh another squeeze. Charles sucked in a breath, and his finger slid in, cool and slick and so good, it was in the twitch of those eyebrows and the slackness of his mouth. Logan pulled him down, then, pressed his forehead against Charles' shoulder and rumbled soft encouragement.

Charles opened himself steadily, not rushing but not lingering either, as if what he really wanted was the fucking, and for that he didn't want anything fancy. He turned Logan, when he'd brought himself to an objective-free, stretched-open peak of ecstasy with his fingers, so that Logan could fuck him from behind, both of them lying on their sides.

“I’d rather you fuck me right now,” Charles murmured, riding was apparently off the table, but Logan couldn’t care less.

If Charles had so much as touched his dick at the end of the prep, there, when he'd pushed three fingers slick and dripping, having been generous with the lube, everything sliding and open and painted in a red swollen haze of absolute pure lust for Logan to see… Logan would have come, right then, the sounds that man made enough for him to be positively leaking at this point. He was sure Charles could see how wet he was, but Charles had resisted; hadn't touched him at all, through all that. He could see Charles riveting, looking back at Logan's dick like it was good enough to eat.

So, finally, Charles pulled out, slowly, carefully, both of them gasping, and turned around, inviting Logan to turn his way and take him from behind. Just invited. Didn't insist. Logan shifted to lie on his side, and then all he could do was wait.

When Charles took hold of his thigh to brace, Logan leaned in and brushed his lips along the shell of the brunet’s ear, then pushed into him, guiding himself with his free hand, Charles groaned and melted, lifting his hips, pushing back, all lust and no thought, and so wanton, so wanting it.

"Fuck," Logan said, propped now over Charles, propped against him, easing in and in, slowly, beautifully. Charles scrabbled for the edge of the mattress, found it, braced, and pushed back and Logan’s pulse was throbbing in his lips, in his balls, in his cock.

It went on like that for maybe three strokes, in and slowly out, and then Charles started to talk. His voice was low and rough and choked with passion.

"God, you are so fucking handsome. No idea that you'd want me, no fucking idea. God, you feel good. So good, God. O-Oh."

"'S good," Logan grunted. "You’re fucking tight, princess… Charles."

"God, Logan, Logan," Charles said, and he was braced, taut, still holding Charles' shoulder, watching his dick disappear into Charles' body, over and over, slow and deep. The younger man let the strokes push him into the pillow, let them roll him, and he scrunched his eyes closed and pressed his face into the sheets and dissolved into Logan fucking him.

After a mindless while, Logan was aware that he was gasping, and repeating the kid’s name, and his strokes were getting harder. He half realised that Charles had groped for his own dick, vaguely feeling that he wanted to come when Charles came, wanted it all to happen together, and he let go of the brunet’s shoulder to clutch his hipbones with both hands and drive himself as deep as he could, shaking and grunting out.

Charles moaned, pressing back, and came all over his own fingers.

It took only five more thrusts into that spasming, tight heat for Logan to spill as well, and fuck, it went on a for a long time, the feedback loop between the man’s flexing ass and his dick making everything stronger, longer, more intense. It was good like this, when it was good. Logan had had plenty of lousy experiences through the years, but when it was good, when the other guy was on par with him - hell. Nothing better.

His breathing had slowed enough to let him lick his dry lips and swallow. He'd probably made a lot of noise. He knew Charles had. It was like an echo, lingering in his ears. An aftershock of sound. He'd been too distracted to actually hear it in real time, but he had a confused memory of their voices blending, groaning together, there at the end.

Charles' thighs were still pressed back against his own, and the only distance brought by his own hand, flat between them, carefully pressed against the opening of the condom, being careful even while wanting to linger, wanting not to pull out so soon, and Charles took notice, too… it made him smile.

Turned those gorgeous pink lips up at the corners.

So the kid knew that feeling; that reluctance to separate. He groped for Charles hand with his free one, and when he covered it with his own, Charles rumbled. Again, surprise. Logan squeezed his hand.

Charles exhaled, and Logan could hear him thinking.

"It's okay, Chuck," Logan said. "I better take care of that."

"Yeah. It's just... hard to…"

"Yeah." Logan carefully withdrew, and the kid closed his eyes and just lay there, waiting again, while Logan discarded the condom and wiped himself down, relieving himself in the process. He flushed, and came back with a warm cloth, wiping the brunet up without a word and went away to get rid of the cloth, before he finally pressed against Charles’ back again. Which was a surprise, a very, very pleasant warm surprise, to the kid and him both.

He had no idea what urged him to do so, but he was too contented in that moment to fight it.

Charles wrapped his arms around the arms that were wrapped around his middle, and said, "Can we sleep a little? Or do you need to go?"

"No, you can sleep a little, if you want."

“That’s… thank you,” Charles sounded surprised. Logan tried to put it together; if his surprise was at Logan wanting to stay or Logan assuming he might have to go soon. But very soon Logan was out like a light, clutching Charles in his arms, burrowing into the man’s soft hair.

Logan jolted awake, sparked by some internal clock, or the strange surroundings, after the medium-sized nap that resulted in maximum alertness, almost as good as a night's sleep. He could tell immediately that roughly and hour and a half had passed. Charles was awake, and he was still pressed against his back.

"God, sorry," Logan said. "You didn't sleep at all, did you."

Charles's voice was soft and cautious as he turned around in his arms, blue eyes gentle. "You've been somewhere... bad. Haven't you?"

Logan disentangled himself and sat up. Quickly. Pushing away from the gentleness, from that gaze that seemed to see too much, look to deep. "What did I say?"

Charles put a hand on his shoulder, and Logan let Charles turn him. Charles wanted his eyes, so Logan met his now cautious gaze. "You didn't say anything. Well, you said something, whatever that was, it’s not one of my languages. It was more what you did… shivers. The tension in your body when you dreamed."

Their gazes locked. A wave of goosebumps poured down Logan's back. He put his hand where his tags would have been, if he'd been wearing them, and changed the gesture to a clutching at his own elbows. Logan opened his mouth to apologize again, but Charles squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Sorry you had to do anything like that. Whatever it was."

Logan swallowed. Then he rubbed his face with both hands. He was way too awake now. He put his hand on Charles' shoulder, and admired, fleetingly, the smooth chest, the small tight nipples… and then he leaned over, across their folded knees, and kissed him and Charles let him, but he wasn't into it. Not like before, because this was the end of the night and not the beginning, and they both knew it.

"I better go," Logan said.

"Yeah," Charles said, his voice bearing a tinge of sadness that Logan couldn’t afford to recognise, and he waited while Logan got up and found his way out into the hall and splashed water on his face. When he came out of the bathroom, and went back to the bedroom to find his clothes, Charles wasn't in there. Logan got dressed alone.

Charles took him to the lot where Logan had left his truck. It wasn't anywhere close to dawn yet; the sky was still black, still pierced by the few stars strong enough to be seen through city lights.

After he stopped the car, Charles reached for the ignition, but stopped himself and left the car running. He put his hands on the wheel and turned to Logan, "I can't call you, can I." He didn't make it a question, but the dejection in those eyes was unbearable.

"No," Logan answered, and left off the  _"I'm sorry"_  that he found was shaping itself inside his mouth.

Charles nodded, and he looked Logan up and down, one more time, and a hint of a smile touched his lips, and then he looked out the wind-shield, and Logan got out. The kid put the car in gear, and Logan watched him drive away.

When Logan got back to his brother’s place, he went across the yard and into the house, using the key from under the doormat, missing all the creaking floorboards out of pure habit, no thought required. He was a little concerned about the cigarette smoke and musk that seemed to float like a cloud around him, but if he took a shower now, he’d certainly wake Victor up, and he didn’t want to risk the man’s narrow minded judgement.

So he stripped to his boxers, and snuggled into his bed in the guest room, which was basically a storage room, but he’d take what he could get. It beat an army cot at any stage.

When he slept again, it was peacefully and long, and as far as he could tell he did not dream, or say stuff he shouldn't out loud in languages most wouldn’t know, and when he woke, the white morning light was pouring through the curtains.

He lay on his back and stretched, and felt the souvenirs of the night, of Charles, in his body, and thought, maybe, he could go home. Should go home, now… and on Saturday maybe he could make omelettes for Maureen. Maureen always loved his omelettes.

Logan wondered if Charles would have liked them, too.


End file.
